Pirate
by TimeLadyInsane
Summary: One of Jack's many run in's with the East India Trading Company from The Past. Warning: contains violent rape scene.


Lord Cutler Beckett knew he should not be feeling these feelings as he faced down The Pirate. The Pirate spat that he would not rest until Cutler Beckett was safely stowed in Davey Jones' Locker. But he could not stop himself from feeling those feelings as the guards dragged The Pirate away to the cells. He adjusted his breeches, and sat at his desk.

Hours later he stared at the agreement he was writing up for the signing of a new merchant vessel. Did not even have a paragraph to show for his hours of sitting behind his desk. The Pirate was floating in his mind. He could not rid himself of these feelings.

He stood, deciding to go for a walk to try and clear his mind of the visions of The Pirate. He walked for a long while, lost in thought, before he realized where his treacherous feet had brought him.

The cells were dank and dirty. Not at all the place for one such as himself. He found the guard alert and keeping a close eye on the prisoners occupying the cells. "Bring me the newest one," he told the guard, who complied, bringing The Pirate out a few moments later, shackled "Bring him."

They walked to the room that was used for the rare interrogation of prisoners before they were sent to the gallows. "Put him there," said Beckett, indicating the chains mounted on one wall. The guard was interested, but not enough to risk his job by questioning orders. He started to chain him, facing the room. "No," said Beckett sharply, "Facing the wall." The guard hesitated for a moment but turned the prisoner around and continued chaining him when he caught the look of rage mixed with something he wouldn't even risk his job by thinking, on Lord Beckett's face. He finished chaining The Pirate to the wall, and stood back awaiting further orders.

"Leave," said Lord Beckett shortly.

"Sir." He hurried out the door, and back to his post.

Beckett paced the room like a big cat in a menagerie, looking at The Pirate then away, and back again. "You going to do that all night, mate?" asked The Pirate over his shoulder with a bit of a wry grin.

"Speak when you are spoken to, Pirate" snapped Lord Beckett, going over to the small chest in the corner of the room. It held the tools he had used to loosen a good many tongues. He had not had the chance to touch them in far too long. His fingers knowingly caressed the leather of the long, supple whip. Pulling out the brand, and whip, he went over to the small, rough, wooden table in the middle of the room, which still held the brazier he had so often used. He lit the coals and waited for them to start smoldering, pacing back and forth, back and forth, throwing glances at The Pirate.

The Pirate watched as well as he could over his shoulder, with trepidation on his face. Lord Beckett placed the brand in the coals, though they were not quite hot enough, they would heat more as he went about his other business. He gave the whip an experimental crack to get the feel for it back. The Pirate gave him a look of fear mixed with petulance. "You sure you know what to do with that, shorty?"

The Pirate was left with no doubt that Lord Beckett knew how to use it, as he was surprised into a howl by the first lash, which sliced through his shirt and separated his flesh, allowing blood to soak into the yellowing fabric as far as two inches either side of the tear.

Lord Beckett felt his rage boil as he dealt several less punishing lashes into The Pirate's back, not wanting The Pirate to pass out before he had had his fill. Allowing himself pleasure at the wonderfully anguished noises The Pirate was making.

Having exhausted his interest in that form of punishment, he checked on his plain, circular brand. It was glowing an angry orange in the gloom. He pulled it from the embers and walked back to The Pirate, ripping the few strips of fabric still latticed across his back, and shoved the brand into the middle of the first gash, cauterizing it, and wrenching a scream from The Pirate's throat. He pulled it away from the flesh, leaving a circular mark, which would have been deeper had the brand been any hotter, over the center of the wound.

He cast the brand away and reached around the sagging body of The Pirate. He unfastened The Pirate's breeches and smallclothes, pushing them to his knees. He did the same with his own clothes, releasing his burgeoning erection.

Spitting in his hand and slicking himself up a bit, he pressed himself against The Pirate's opening. "S-so, that's what th-this is all about? I m-might have kn-known," he stuttered and gasped through his pain.

Lord Beckett wasted no more time, forcing himself past the tight ring of muscle, feeling it tear slightly, bringing another howl from The Pirate.

He felt the warmth of flowing blood on himself as he thrust repeatedly into The Pirate, losing himself in the ecstasy of tight muscle, warm blood, and the cries of The Pirate. A feeling he had not experienced in far too long.

He felt the pressure building up in his groin as little coils of white hot pleasure slid down from behind his bellybutton. The Pirate's cries finally brought him over the edge, and he stiffened against The Pirate's back, convulsing as he came, color exploding behind his eyes.

He sagged slightly for a moment, then stood back, doing up his breeches, calling the guard back in, telling him to put the prisoner back in his cell. He knew the guard would tell no one.

~~~~~~

Later that week, when The Pirate was scheduled for hanging, he was sitting in his study reading a letter from one of his Privateers. He looked up as he heard a scraping noise from across the room. He registered the face of The Pirate before the pain of the brand in the left side of his chest made his world explode. As he slipped into the blackness he heard one word uttered by Captain Jack Sparrow...

"Pirate."


End file.
